


Shakespeare, be damned.

by braedens



Series: tumblr fics [5]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Fluff, Fluff and Crack, Fluff and Humor, M/M, Penis Size, Real Men Wear Tights, Theatre, bc who doesn't love some boys in tights, honestly i love this universe i should start a theatre tw fic series, theatre!sterek
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-16
Updated: 2017-08-16
Packaged: 2018-12-16 07:54:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,167
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11824347
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/braedens/pseuds/braedens
Summary: based onthis post





	Shakespeare, be damned.

**Author's Note:**

> based on [this post](http://damn-it-all-to-disneyland.tumblr.com/post/140834414139/funny-story)

“My dick is not having this, man.”

Stiles tugs at his crotch, which, okay he should be more polite and discreet. But, it’s just Scott. And Allison. So, he really can’t be bothered. 

What can bother him, however, is that he was dragged into Allison’s play, Midsummer Night’s Dream, and the wardrobe was strictly tights.

Though, what kind of best friend would he be if he denied Allison, who was taking at her first go at producing and directing for her college career, his talented self as the role of Lysander. 

Allison had took a great spin on the play, changing it to the eventful romance of two men instead of the typical male/female dynamic. Most of the cast was gender-swapped, and the role of Hermia (or, Hermies, in this case) is played by a male.

Derek Hale.

Incredibly attractive, forever-smolder faced beauty, Derek Hale. 

“Stiles, if you rip the tights, we don’t have replacements!” Allison whines, touching up Scott’s face as she does.

Stile frumps, lets go of the fabric. “I feel so exposed. And naughty.”

“Since when do you ever have a problem with being naughty?” Scott scoffs, and Allison scolds him with a glare for moving. 

“Wow, I told you that one time when we were drunk! See if I ever go out drinking with you again.”

At that, the door to the dressing room swings open, and a parade of men in tights walk in, Jackson leading them with a smug grin. Next thing he knows, Jackson is tossing a rolled up ball of socks into his lap from where he’s sitting on the sofa. He tosses one to Scott, too.

“Suit up, assholes.”

“The fuck,” Stiles mumbles, turning the rolled up sock in his hands.

From the side, Scott shoos Allison away from his face to turn to look at Jackson. “I’m already wearing socks?” He asks, his face a mix of confusion and curiosity that is really too precious for Stiles. 

“No, dickweed, it’s not for your feet.” Jackson sneers, some of his friends behind him snickering. 

Stiles’ eyes scrunch, and when he looks around, he sees the other guys reaching down their pants like it’s a goddamn orgy and…no.

“Is this a fucking joke?” Stiles as credulously, eyes dashing between Jackson and Scott. “You want us to put socks in our pants to enlarge our dicks?”

Allison groans. “Please don’t say ‘enlarge our dicks’.”

And, okay, look. Stiles isn’t surprised in the slightest. I mean, it’s Jackson. Only someone as harebrained as him would come up with a joke like this. He catches Jackson’s expectant look, and he can’t help but raise an eyebrow.

“I gotta say, Whittemore; I didn’t think you were so insecure you’d need to compensate.” Stiles smirks.

“What the hell are you getting at, Stilinski?” 

Stiles heaves himself up from the couch, initially to go to the bathroom to fix his hair, but he figures having an escape route might be in good taste.

“Because you have a small dick!” he calls behind him, but before he can push the door to the bathroom open, he’s stopped by a looming, tan presence.

“Hey, Derek,” he draws out.

Of course, Stiles makes it awkward. That’s his life. Only he would be stopped by Derek in the doorway of the bathroom in the dressing room, in a room full of peers, and not be able to do anything but stand there.

To be fair, so does Derek. Which, rude, Stiles would love to be in the washroom and away from Jackson’s theater groupies that could probably beat him up. (Seriously, how are all these guys so jacked, they do theatre for God’s sake).

Derek just eyes down on him.

And because Stiles is a ginormous and incredulous asshat, he breathes a nervous laugh and eyes Derek up and down, gaze falling to his crotch.

Which, yeah, sounds worse than it looks. If it’s any justification, Stiles doesn’t think it’s really his fault. If anything, it’s Derek’s fault. Ever since they found out they were playing the main love interests in Allison’s play, Stiles has learned way more about Derek’s personal life than he hoped.It started off as just two guys coming into the auditorium on Monday nights, sitting on stage and reading lines after rehearsals, to meeting up at Stiles apartment to recite lines, to eventually finding any free time they had to practice. What started as costar comradery turned into actual friendship; Derek inviting Stiles to his fraternity parties, Stiles dragging him to see the new Star Wars movie with Scott.

They became friends. Well, Derek was his friend. Stiles wanted… something different. Not that there was any way in any form of hell that was an option for him. There is no love story where the spastic, clutzy History major and President of the Film Club would get together with the adored, popular, broody, all-star athlete fraternity guy.

Even if their practice kisses sometimes left Stiles wishing he could know what that beard would feel like on other parts of his body.

But seriously, he’s amazed Jackson got everyone on board with the sock game. Though, Derek may have gone a bit overboard if you ask him. His tights are about to split at the seams from where the socks are stuffed, and it just looks so unrealistic.

“Geez, Derek, how many socks did you put in your pants,” he elbows Derek in the arm, because of all the times he needs to be chummy, it’s when he’s talking about his friend’s crotch. “No one’s going to believe that.”

But, Derek’s eyes go wide, and the snickers from Jackson behind him are clearly audible. 

“I, uh, I haven’t put any in yet.”

And. Okay.

Stiles will probably refer to this at the Worst Day of His Life, seeing as his face is beet red within seconds, and Scott is full-blown cackling in his chair to the point that Allison is slapping upside the head for messing up his eyeliner or some shit. 

Really, Stiles didn’t expect to feel so embarrassed in a room surrounded by grown men in tights and make-up but oh was he fucking wrong.

“Uh, I- I’m-” he mumbles, but Derek just claps a hand on his shoulder, shutting him up immediately. He leans in close, and Stiles tries to ignore the fact that he’s thought of this scenario in his head about sixty different ways.

“Thanks, though.” Derek whispers, pats his shoulder once, and walks out of Stiles’ way and towards the other guys who are getting the finishing parts of their costumes done by the mirrors, just fucking saunters in his skin-tight green spandex.

Stiles blinks, mouth agape, and at this point he’s pretty much replaced his thought capacity with confusion and arousal. The only reason he snaps out of it is because he instantly feels Derek’s eyes on him again, glancing over his should with a small smile.

That, and the sock Jackson throws at his face.

**Author's Note:**

> i write more nonsense on [tumblr](http://braedens.tumblr.com)


End file.
